


The Otasune Soulmate Wrist Tattoo Saga

by faerieswing



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Philanthropy, Soulmate wrist tattoo au, soulmate wrist tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerieswing/pseuds/faerieswing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Pairing: Solid Snake/Otacon<br/>Rating: PG-13<br/>Summary: Set in an alternate universe where the name of one's soulmate appears as a tattoo on their wrist.<br/>Notes: Compilation of all short bits originally posted on Tumblr</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Otasune Soulmate Wrist Tattoo Saga

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Solid Snake/Otacon  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Summary: Set in an alternate universe where the name of one's soulmate appears as a tattoo on their wrist.  
> Notes: Compilation of all short bits originally posted on Tumblr

Snake was born with a blank wrist. But when he was about eight years old, he awoke in the middle of the night to a horrible, burning pain. He looked down, noticed two vertical lines forming on his wrist. He screamed, terrified and woozy from the sudden jolt from sleep. His childhood commander came running into the dorm room, grabbing roughly at Snake’s wrist. 

He sighed. “Oh, shit. Come on.” 

He tugged the boy down the hallway into a dim office, pulling something out of a locked drawer. It was a tattoo gun.

"This is for the best, kid." 

Snake looked down, able to just make out the letter “H” before his commander tattooed a black band across the width of his wrist, two inches thick. 

He ignored the band for years. 

**

One of Hal’s earliest memories was his father looking down at his wrist in disgust. He colored over the letters that he didn’t yet understand with a marker, looked to his dad; it didn’t help.

As he got older, he found ways to cover it up: long sleeves, watches, a cuff with cartoons. The ink never saw the sun. He tried to love women, but failed to get past the initial stages of infatuation—never love. Never anything permanent. 

At first, he assumed “Solid Snake” was actually a name, even if an odd one. It was after Shadow Moses, after Meryl had left Alaska, after Philanthropy began to take shape, that Hal started to feel twitches in his chest when Snake leaned close to him to peer at a map on his computer screen. 

"So, uh, Snake? Is that your real name?"

Snake titled his head to the side, studied Hal for a moment. “No. That’d be kind of ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”

"Well, uh, I mean … you’ve never mentioned wanting to go by anything else. I just … wondered, you know. ‘s all."

Snake shrugged. “David is my real name, but I haven’t gone by that since I was a kid.” 

An invisible weight dropped down into Hal’s feet and his eyes lost focus. “Huh. Nice name.” He felt red heat on his cheeks, turned back to his computer, and tried to ignore Snake’s curious stare.

Later that night, he slipped off his watch, lightly traced the letters on his wrist with shaky breath. This had to be it, right?

**

Hal kept quiet for months, unsure if he was ready to open himself up again. After all, this may not be _the_ “David.” And even more terrifying, he had no way of knowing what name had been blacked out on Dave’s wrist.

What Hal did know was simple enough—Dave made him nervous in the pink-cheeked, high-pitched, hand-shaking sort of way. He constantly felt like a kid on the swing set—exhilarated, but with his stomach up between his ears half of the time. Hal would lean past Dave to grab a spoon to stir his coffee and get the same whoosh through his entire body as when he’d complete the arc of his swing forward, then begin to fly backward. It made him a bit queasy, sure, but he wasn’t about to stop. 

So when Dave suggested that they have a few drinks in celebration of six months of Philanthropy, Hal agreed with a winged excitement in his chest. 

Three beers, one movie, and two half-sized shots of whiskey later: Hal tried to stand up off the couch, but laughed his way backwards into Dave. Flopping one arm over Hal’s shoulder, Dave held him to his chest in an easy hug. Dave, who laughed like summer thunder, smelled like spice and smoke and warmth—Dave didn’t let go.

**

Hal fell asleep, head lolled back and turned out towards Dave’s shoulder. 

Dave looked down at the watch Hal never seemed to take off…suspected the reason why. If he was truthful, he’d suspected for months—Hal was far from subtle in his personal interactions. But there never seemed a good time to bring it up, not that he knew how to start the conversation anyway…

He gently touched Hal’s palm, waited to make sure he didn’t stir, then slowly pushed down the watch’s band. He only had to see the tops of the letters—printed dark and blocky, perfectly straight and upright. He sighed some, not surprised, really, but still a tad off balance. So. Here he was.

He remembered the “H” he’d seen burning into his wrist so many years ago. He used to hold his arm up to lamps and the sun, tried to make out any of the other letters, but never could. At some point he stopped trying, erasing the urge from his immediate thoughts, but never permanently. He could only manage to black it out for so long…

And honestly, he didn’t care if there was a Hannah or a Henry out there somewhere—never liked the idea of that choice being out of his hands. He’d been directed and pointed and commanded his whole life, put his heart behind every other obligation long enough. Now he wanted the choice, was ready. No more mandatories.

And he picked Hal. 

Carefully, Dave undid the clasp of Hal’s watch, watching the sleeping man with one eye. Hal didn’t stir, so Dave removed the watch completely, lightly drawing his fingertip across the smooth skin, a shade or two lighter than the rest of Hal’s arm. 

Dave smiled to himself, closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep—Hal’s head still against his shoulder.

**

When he woke, Hal’s head was heavy. The side of his nose throbbed from where the plastic of his glasses had rubbed all night, and his stomach was bordering between dull uneasiness and burning. He sat up slowly, rubbing absently at the back of his neck. He turned around and noticed that Dave was still next to him, asleep. 

Almost on cue, Dave’s eyes popped open. Startled, Hal scooted away on the couch, rubbing more at his neck, embarrassed.  
"G’morning," Dave mumbled, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"Morning," Hal replied softly, looking down at his hands. He nearly gasped when he saw that his watch had come undone at some point during the night. "Oh …" he muttered to himself, scanning the floor as he wrapped fingers around his wrist, guarding the lettering.

He nearly yelped in surprise when he felt Dave reach over, touching—no, prying—at his fingers. Dave pulled Hal’s hand away, letting the name free. Hal looked down, then up at Dave, already turning his face and shoulders away, bracing himself. 

But Dave’s face remained calm, eyes steady. He ran his thumb gently along the lettering. Hal’s stomach dropped, his ears growing hot. Dave didn’t look down, seemed to know exactly what Hal’s wrist said … seemed to be okay with it. Hal’s face twisted in confusion and surprise. He raised his eyebrows in question, mouth falling open some. 

Dave’s fingers kept moving, running up the inside of Hal’s forearm, then back down to trace the length of each of his fingers, draw circles in his palm. Hal was nearly breathless, not sure where to look … down at his arm, Dave’s fingers, Dave’s eyes … Dave’s mouth. His heart beat faster.

Finally, Dave caught his eye, searched his face for several quiet moments. Then he smiled. Hal smiled back on instinct: nervous, limbs frozen, heart flying. Was Dave looking … at his lips? Then a hand was against his cheek, tilting his chin upwards.

"Hal …" Part statement, part question.

"Mmm," was all he could reply. 

Dave tilted his head sideways, moving about an inch closer, eyes flitting up and down Hal’s face. Then he let out a small laugh, leaned forward, still holding Hal by the cheek. His lips pressed to the middle of Hal’s forehead … then the apple of his cheek … the point of his nose. And even though Hal’s hands were shaking, head pounding, stomach churning, he felt himself begin to float.  
Fingers moved back to the nape of his neck. Hal parted his lips, breath shaky, eyes unable to focus. He closed them, suddenly highly in tune with all of his other senses: Dave’s smokey smell, the buzz of a fan in the distance, the heat of Dave’s breath…He felt Dave’s nose brush a tickle against the corner of his mouth, his chest twisting in reply. 

Then in a warm rush they were kissing—Hal about to slide off the couch, Dave shifting on the cushions to pull him in closer. It was alarmingly simple, as if there’d never even been a question … as if Hal hadn’t passed several months in a petrified reverie. As if this had been the plan all along: the tingle of fingers in his hair, the taste of autumn in Dave’s kiss.

Dave pulled back after a moment, his eyes droopy, a kind of quiet smile on his face that Hal hadn’t seen before. He gently raised Hal’s wrist, pressed his lips to the long-hidden lettering, sliding his eyes up to meet Hal’s. Hal almost moaned at the look he met. 

"No more hiding," Dave said quietly.

Hal shook his head quickly, whispered, “No hiding.” Then he closed the space between them, catching Dave’s lips, warmth sliding down his back from the base of his skull. _Oh._

This was it

** 

Sunny had a boy’s name on her wrist. So did her Uncle Hal. Snake, though, had a black band on his wrist, something Sunny figured was just a soldier thing. She’d remembered Jack having a band, too, and Snake’s old friend Colonel Roy.

But one morning, Snake was making coffee after a shower, and Sunny noticed dark lettering on the left side of his chest. She wandered over, looked closer, and pointed. “Snake. Why is Uncle Hal’s name on your chest?”

Snake took a sip of his coffee. “Because I put it there.”

"How come it’s there and not on your wrist?"

"Because this is where his name belongs."

Sunny eyed the letters, loopy and tall, right over Snake’s heart. She smiled, laughed to herself happily, then ran off to play.


End file.
